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thatgirlallison08 at gmail dot com
It’s the big night tonight. The most important evening for most theatre people (on this side of the pond at least). Below are my predictions of who will win and who should win.
This weekend was pretty great. Involved a lot of yoga, a lot of walking, and some good friends.
I went to my usual 9:15am grueling vinyasa class on Saturday morning, ran a few errands after, and confirmed with my two good guy friends that we were grabbing coffee downtown and walking up to Central Park because it was just that nice out. They both agreed and we wound up at Yaffa Cafe in Alphabet City; a place we’d been together almost exactly a year prior (except there was lots of wine involved that day). Michael brought his DSLR and was snapping shots in a paparazzi-esque way the entire day. This shot happened at brunch:
I know people always say their significant other brings out the best in them and that’s great! But I didn’t know it was actual a thing to date someone who brought out the worst in you - or me, rather.
Remember the guy who liked to talk on the phone and who I had a semi-awful date with last week? He had all the best of intentions and was a genuinely sweet person, but he brought out the absolute worst in me. We had four or five dates and half of them started with him being unable to make plans, showing up late, and/or doing nothing but fighting with me.
I was in the worst of moods ever yesterday. Like, ever. I promise you.
I woke up yesterday, slightly tired and a little bit hazy from the cheap vodka I’d had a bit of the night before at the worst bar ever, but ready to tackle the day. First up was one of my favorite ass-kicking yoga classes with one of my favorite teachers. It was great until she told us to kick up into a headstand. I was wobbly and couldn’t do it on my own. And my mat was sliding around. It seemed everything was going wrong and my world was collapsing in on me (drama queen moment).
The Friday before last I was supposed to meet a guy after work for drinks, but when I woke up it was a blizzard outside so I texted him about canceling. it was 7:30 in the morning but minutes after I texted him, he called me.
He used the phone and called me. I can’t remember the last time a guy called me. Maybe because I have a tendency to date introverts who have a phobia of talking on the phone. Or maybe it’s because everyone texts nowadays anyways, and whenever their phones ring, they look a little confused at the ringing, blinking object in their hand.
He’s called me a couple of times since our date too. And it was kind of nice. Because I can’t read into a phone call the way I can read into a text (and if you’re female, you know what I mean because, shut up, you do it too). There are actual emotions in people’s voices when you talk to them on the phone (I’m Captain Obvious today). I think my past relationships have been screwed up at one point or another from the reliance on text-only communication (among other things).
Mass bitchiness on my end was avoided the other day when he texted me to tell me he was getting stuck late at work for an hour and I said let’s reschedule. He said, “I’m not doing this via text. Call me when you can.” Had we continued through text, anything I said would’ve come across as passive aggressive. Instead, I heard his voice and how sorry he was, and how he insisted that he just wanted to spend time with me.
It’s taken a bit of getting used to, but slowly, I’m getting used to it.
Last Sunday, my friend Kristen and I ventured out in freezing temperatures to see Cat on a Hot Tin Roof. It was also Super Bowl Sunday (which no one really cares about, right?) so we thought the perfect was to celebrate would be to experience some classic Tennessee Williams. After successfully purchasing rush tickets, we made our first stop to warm up and hydrate: Little Town (on Restaurant Row). This is one of my favorite places, but it was, very inconveniently, out of almost everything that day. Luckily, they still had wings, and pretzels, and beer.
They were delicious. We were happy (happy meaning warm and fed). Since we were seeing a three-hour play, we went to caffeinate at Starbucks. We became even happier.
Finally three o’clock rolled around and we took our side-orchestra seats. We were on the house-left side and although I believe these are sold as ‘partial view,’ there’s really nothing partial view about them. If you’re rushing Cat on a Hot Tin Roof, I suggest you request house left. The action takes place almost entirely center stage anyways.
This revival of Cat on a Hot Tin Roof is superior to the 2008 (?) revival in every single way. I remember being completely underwhelmed at the Broadhurst Theatre when I saw it (but lets be clear that I just remember being there - the production was so unremarkable that I can’t recall anything about it).
The set is breathtaking and actually resembles a plantation home. The sound and lighting designs are equally as lovely, and effective.
The cast? Also: Wow. Everyone knows that Benjamin Walker is pretty and can sing, but Act II of Cat proves that the boy can act. He goes at it with Ciaran Hinds for almost the entire second act and they’re both amazing. I was a huge fan of Ciaran Hinds in The Seafarer and he doesn’t disappoint in this either. He has a huge stage presence that makes you know instantly why everyone calls him “Big Daddy.” While I Debra Monk is fantastic, she once again played the same kind of character she always does: the scattered wife.
And then there’s Scarlett Johansson. She’s gorgeous, and I enjoy her in movies, but could she act on stage? I had missed by a hair her performance in A View From the Bridge so this was my second chance. Yes, she very much can act. I never once doubted her character, or the choices she made onstage. After her performance in Act 1, we were left feeling a bit, “That was awesome, but we want more Scarlett!” after the mostly-Scarlett-less Act 2. But in all seriousness, she was wonderful.
Overall: It was the perfect Super Bowl Sunday.